Germans in Speedos - Why God Why?

More specifically German men in Speedos and even more specifically German men at my hotel in Speedos.

I can't for the life of me think why, as a rational human being, you'd ever feel the need to don a pair of Speedos. They do not look good, especially on fat, ugly men and unless those people were using the hotel pool for their Olympic training I don't see what advantages they have over trunks. Maybe they wanted an all over tan? You needn't have bothered because the only person who was gonna see you naked was your equally fat, ugly wife who was taking up two fricking sunloungers - one for her fat ass and one for her copius amounts of sunoil, towels, robes, reading material and snacks!

Ok, so you probably think I'm being a little harsh. What is it to me if people want to wear miniscule lyrca pants around the pool? Surely all I need to do is not look and the eye offense will end? Nope. Because the pool is not the only place they wore them. BREAKFAST. The fuckers wore Speedos to BREAKFAST. I seriously did not need to know the penis size of my fellow diners whilst I was applying Nutella to my crossiant. What was even worse was that they were wearing t-shirts that ended exactly at the penis bulge point so your attention was immeadiately drawn to the crotch and there was just nothing you could do about it!

And it wasn't just the Speedo wearing - they were just generally offensive. They were really loud, dive bombed it into the pool, bagged five loungers each at about seven in the morning, ate everything at the buffet before you got there - it was just everything to excess, apart from the swimming outfit, obviously.

End rant.

Roman Holiday?

Actually, Lake Garda holiday but there were still scooters so go with it.

Of course there is plenty to tell and I shall reveal all in the next week. Look forward to the upcoming installments:

• Germans in Speedos - Why God Why?
• My sinful trip to the local church
• My gondola ride with the obese, sea-sick man
• Italian Men Love britpopbaby
• My own father labels me a 'man-tease'
• Why the city of Verona has a damn nerve
• My holiday fling with the manicurist

But, for now, check out the amazing hotel I stayed at HERE. Looking at it now is making me cry.

Graduating In Style

Stomach flu style! Un-fucking-believable. The one day I actually needed to look good and I get a colour draining stomach bug. Three years of wandering around like a complete hobo and the one time I'm about to make A LOT of effort I can't even be arsed to straighten my hair or put eyeshadow on because I can't stand up!

The night before graduation I met up with Anneka to go out for a celebratory meal. I didn't feel a hundred percent great on the way there but thought I'd get over it. Once inside the restaurantI became uber sensitive to every smell and decided to eat light. By the time the menu arrived I couldn't even bear reading it although I do remember seeing the phrase saddle of rabbit (ugh).

Then the waitress brought a bowl of olives and plonked them down right next to me, that was it, I pelted it to the bathroom and threw up like I've never thrown up before. Sorry for the details but I want to convey the trauma. I usually never ever get stomach bugs and I absolutely hate being sick - I have the constitution of an ox. My family even makes me taste out of date food to see if it's still remotely edible.

Anyway, after projectile vomiting I thought everyone might do the decent thing and let me return to the B&B but they'd ordered whilst I was in the bathroom. I got told to wait in the lounge, read a paper and sip my mineral water. I was pissed but I thought I could manage for at least half an hour. Oh no.

Ten minutes later I was back in the bathroom and I was pretty sure everyone in the lounge could hear me heaving. When I came out I felt like making some announcement to them all about it not being the restaurant food at fault. I didn't, instead I staggered into the main section to tell everyone I was getting a taxi home because I was making a scene. Maybe the other diners liked the entertainment but I did not. Mum followed me out with her car keys in hand but before we made it to the carpark I was sick again near a flowerpot. Sorry about that, restaraunt folks. I was then sick again in some bushes near the car as a mini bus full of people pulled in. Nice. Mum finally sat me in the car, wrapped me in a blanket and then said the mains were coming so just wait here and if I needed to be sick again there were some perfectly good shrubs around. Fine I thought, it's prehaps a little inconsiderate but I guessed they've ordered now so they might as well eat it.

Sometime later, (I was now in the delirious stage and had started a conversation with a nearby sparrow), Anneka arrived. She said everyone else was just finishing up, except by finishing up she meant ORDERING FUCKING DESSERT! Hello? I've just heaved up half my body weight around the restaurant grounds and you people are sat waiting for your sorbet?

We eventually left the frickin restaurant of doom and on the way home I started to sing songs from Dumbo.

In the morning I felt like I'd been mugged by hoodlums with a crowbar. My whole body ached. The actual graduation was pretty uneventful although I'm mighty please with myself that I managed to sit through it all. Maybe something did happen and I didn't even notice because I was kinda swaying between full conciousness and delrium. I got up for my name though which was another achievement.

Here is a picture of me coming off the stage. It's the only decent one from the digital camera because you may notice the rather large gentlemen in front of me, well, he blocked me out of all the other shots. Thanks. Sorry, it's dark too. You weren't allowed to use flash. Complete token pic.

Anyway, this post is dedicated to my Anneka. As she sat in the car with me as other people ate dessert she said how this would be funny when posted up at Gin Harpy. She was right. And congratulations to us for getting our damn degrees, even though we still don't actually have them. We worked h...well, we worked for it and more importantly we drank for it.

Buongiorno!

I'm off to Italia on Saturday. I cannot frickin wait. Thanks to my new haircut, expensive fake tan, designer bikini and gym battered body I will be pulling off the following look:
Although my ass isn't as big but hell, you can't have eveything. The digital camera will be coming along so I'll get some shots of me leaning whimsically over a balcony or some shit and then you can all tell me how fabulous I look. Towards the end of the holiday, after too many bowls of pasta and a disregard for sun lotion, I may be working this look:
My hair has had a major change. Anneka will be surprised when she sees me today although last time I had a blunt fringe cut she didn't say anything and then some days later remarked, 'I'm not good at noticing things like that'. Bollocks, bitch! Anyway, I had all my hair cut off to a bob(it was practically down to my arse) and dyed it 'Bitter Chocolate' which is an extermely sexy way of saying very dark brown. I just like to say at this point that brunettes are superior to blondes so therefore it must suck to be Kate Bosworth.

britpopbaby Almost Gets Fleeced Big Time

Sometimes, I'll be sat in a situation and will not take in anything that is going on around me because I'll just be thinking, 'How that fuck did I get myself into this?'. It happened when I got mowed down by a car, it happened when I got lost for two days in Spain and it happened again today.

In my bid to become the most brilliant website designer in the world (no laughing at the back), I looked into what courses were available in my area. Google (mis)lead me in the direction of a site called www.computercollege.com. All I did was click a box that said I was interested in information on website design and left my email. I expected a brochure, prehaps an email at most but what do I get? A phone call at 8.00am telling me a man will come round to my house to chat with me about the courses available. Now I was tried and also in a rush and the bitch on the other end of the phone seemed very determined that it was imperative of me to have a good talking to in my own house. I said, 'Fine' because I needed to get to the dentists and she said, 'Great, someone will be around to talk you at 4pm this afternoon,'. 'Er, whatever...'

THE dodgiest man showed up on my doorstep - my mother had a fit. He looked like a car salesman only more seedy. He stank of fags and had tattoos all over his forearms. I invited him in and he just stood there in the kitchen, looking around like he was scanning the place for valuables. My Mum was choking in the background (she hates most people, especially when they try to sell you things). Anyway, what unravelled was a 45 minute endurance test of my mother having to bite her tounge and me trying not to laugh.

The point where I almost lost it was when he pulled out a pyramid chart and asked me to 'place' myself on it. I went for the second highest one because I do have some qualifications in IT. He looked at me and just went, 'No. You're unqualified'. I said, 'No, I have qualifications - I can do quite a lot on computers'. He just ignored me and went onto to say, 'If you weren't to get a qualification with us, where would you see yourself on the skills pyramid in say, five years time?'. I pointed at the same one I did the first time. He huffed and said, 'Would you go up or down the pyramid?'. To piss him off I said 'Up' and then started twiddling with my hair. I'd like to point out the four levels of this pyramid so you can see I was right and he was a liar - Level 1 - unqualified, no experience. Level 2 - hobby, basic word processing skills. Level 3 - owns a qualification, competent computer user. Level 4 (the peak) - qualification from the Computer College, expert in computers.

When he finally brought up the actual price of the course my Mum swiftly booted him out the door. He was in the middle of telling us about his diving holiday too!

So, there it is.

P.S - Matt, I'm holding you partly responsible for this. 45 minutes of my life - gone!

Quotes From The Week

"I do love a happy ending," Her Majesty the Queen, spoken in the presence of Mary Poppins and Ron Weasley - don't we all ma'am?

"I don't care about the meaning of life. I care about the 80's!" Pyscho mare Nikki from Big Brother - maybe the 80's were the meaning of life?

Me: "This towel smells funny"
Dad: "Spray it with your perfume then"
Me: "I think that's a slight waste of my highly expensive Chanel"
Dad: "Why? I sprayed it on the cat yesterday."

Mum: "Wait, start again. Whose this Jack Gyllenhaal?"
Me: "Jake Gyllenhaal."
Mum: "Jake? Is that Jack's brother?"

And finally, is it me or are My Little Ponies sexually alluring?